"Solitude" is Ella Wheeler Wilcox's most famous poem. The idea for the poem came as she was travelling to Madison, Wisconsin to attend the Governor's inaugural ball. On her way to the celebration, there was a young woman dressed in black sitting across the aisle from her. The woman was crying. Miss Wheeler sat next to her and sought to comfort her for the rest of the journey. When they arrived, the poet was so unhappy that she could barely attend the festivities. As she looked at her own face in the mirror, she suddenly recalled the sorrowful widow. It was at that moment that she wrote the opening lines of "Solitude". It was first published in a 1883 issue of The New York Sun.

Much like Rudyard Kipling and Robert Service, she is commonly regarded as a popular poet rather than as a literary poet.

Sent by Kerrie B, in regard to the post on Australian comic strips and cartoons:

Otto,

My uncle, John Ryan, wrote a book on the history of Australian comics (Panel by Panel). Sadly he died of heart disease shortly after the book was published in 1979. He was only 48. He knew a lost of the artists and they often gave him their original artworks. His collection is n now in the National Library under the John Ryan collection.

Although the article is too lengthy to post, it makes interesting reading for those who would like to look into it further.

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From Byter Graham:

The lawyer says to the wealthy art collector tycoon: “I have some good news and I have some bad news.”

The tycoon replies “I’ve had an awful day, let’s hear the good news first."

The lawyer says “Well, your wife invested $5,000 in two pictures this week that she figures are now worth a minimum of $2 to $3 million each.”

The tycoon replies enthusiastically “Well done…very good news indeed! You’ve just made my day; now what’s the bad news?”

The lawyer answers “The pictures are of you with your secretary.”

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From Byter Leo, a story on what it's like going to a public toilet if you are a woman:

When you have to visit a public toilet, you usually find a line of women, so you smile politely and take your place. Once it's your turn, you check for feet under the cubicle doors.

Every cubicle is occupied..

Finally, a door opens and you dash in, nearly knocking down the woman leaving the cubicle. You get in to find the door won't latch. It doesn't matter, the wait has been so long you are about to wet your pants!

The dispenser for the modern 'seat covers' (invented by someone's Mum, no doubt) is handy, but empty. You would hang your bag on the door hook, if there was one, so you carefully, but quickly drape it around your neck, (Mum would turn over in her grave if you put it on the FLOOR!) down with your pants and assume ' The Stance.'

In this position, your aging, toneless, thigh muscles begin to shake. You'd love to sit down, but having not taken time to wipe the seat or to lay toilet paper on it, you hold 'The Stance.'

To take your mind off your trembling thighs, you reach for what you discover to be the empty toilet paper dispenser.

In your mind, you can hear your mother's voice saying, 'Dear, if you had tried to clean the seat, you would have KNOWN there was no toilet paper!' Your thighs shake more.

You remember the tiny tissue that you blew your nose on yesterday - the one that's still in your bag (the bag around your neck, that now you have to hold up trying not to strangle yourself at the same time). That would have to do, so you crumple it in the puffiest way possible. It's still smaller than your thumbnail.

Someone pushes your door open because the latch doesn't work.

The door hits your bag, which is hanging around your neck in front of your chest and you and your bag topple backward against the tank of the toilet.

'Occupied!' you scream, as you reach for the door, dropping your precious, tiny, crumpled tissue in a puddle on the floor, while losing your footing altogether and sliding down directly onto the TOILET SEAT. It is wet of course. You bolt up, knowing all too well that it's too late. Your bare bottom has made contact with every imaginable germ and life form on the uncovered seat because YOU never laid down toilet paper - not that there was any, even if you had taken time to try.

You know that your mother would be utterly appalled if she knew, because you're certain her bare bottom never touched a public toilet seat because, frankly, dear, 'You just don't KNOW what kind of diseases you could get.

By this time, the automatic sensor on the back of the toilet is so confused that it flushes, propelling a stream of water like a fire hose against the inside of the bowl and spraying a fine mist of water that covers your bum and runs down your legs and into your shoes.

The flush somehow sucks everything down with such force and you grab onto the empty toilet paper dispenser for fear of being dragged in too.

At this point, you give up. You're soaked by the spewing water and the wet toilet seat. You're exhausted. You try to wipe with a sweet wrapper you found in your pocket and then slink out inconspicuously to the sinks.

You can't figure out how to operate the taps with the automatic sensors, so you wipe your hands with spit and a dry paper towel and walk past the line of women still waiting.

You are no longer able to smile politely to them. A kind soul at the very end of the line points out a piece of toilet paper trailing from your shoe. (Where was that when you NEEDED it?)

You yank the paper from your shoe, plonk it in the woman's hand and tell her warmly, 'Here, you just might need this.

As you exit, you spot your hubby, who has long since entered, used and left the men's toilet. Annoyed, he asks, 'What took you so long and why is your bag hanging around your neck?'

This is dedicated to women everywhere who deal with any public toilets. It finally explains to the men what really does take us so long. It also answers that other commonly asked question about why women go to the toilets in pairs. It's so the other girl can hold the door, hang onto your bag and hand you Kleenex under the door.

This HAD to be written by a woman! No one else could describe it so accurately.

Send this to all women that need a good laugh and to the boys to make them understand that being a girl is not all that easy!

Sunday, June 28, 2015

“I think there does need to be give and take on both sides, and this idea that sex is kind of a woman’s right to absolutely withhold, just as the idea that sex is a man’s right to demand I think are both, they both need to be moderated, so to speak.”

Written by George Harrison as a criticism of the upper crust, the Beatles having come from very humble beginnings. It was released in 1968

Harrison's mother provided the line "What they need's a damn good whacking”.

John Lennon contributed the line "clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon.” That line replaced "Clutching forks and knives to cut their pork chops".

John Lennon had the idea for the addition of pig sounds. He does not play on this song.

There was an extra verse not included in the recording:

"Everywhere there's lots of piggies playing piggie pranks

You can see them on their trotters

At the piggy banks

Paying piggy thanks

To thee pig brother."

Piggies is sandwiched between 2 other animal songs, “Blackbird” and Rocky Raccoon.”

Charles Manson believed that the Beatles were speaking to him through the White Album and that “Piggies” was a direction to attack the white establishment.

Manson interpreted "piggies" to mean members of the Establishment. He saw the song as telling him that the Establishment needed "a damn good whacking." Manson frequently quoted the line referring to the need for a "whacking."

When his followers slaughtered Sharon Tate, Leno LaBianca and Rosemary LaBianca in 1969, they used the blood of their victims to write “political piggy”, “pig” and “death to pigs” on the walls. Knives and forks were used to kill the LaBiancas, a reference to "Clutching forks and knives to eat their bacon". Rosemary LaBianca received 41 knife wounds, Leno LaBianca received 12 knife wounds and 7 fork wounds.

In the book Helter Skelter, author Vincent Bugliosi said he was not given permission by Harrison to quote lyrics from the song.

Saturday, June 27, 2015

A visit down memory lane: comic strips and cartoons from past Australian newspapers and magazines. In these days of electronic news, communication and greater sophistication, cartoons and comic strips seem to have disappeared. How many recall their heyday?

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Chesty Bond was the fictional cartoon character and trademark for the clothing company Bonds. Originally created in 1938, Chesty appeared in an advertising cartoon strip in the Sydney newspapers until the 1960’s. Chesty became a superhero when he put on his Bond’s singlet.

Sadly, in 2009 Pacific Brands, the owner of Bonds, shut 7 of its factories and sent all of its manufacturing to China.

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While talking of cartoons, does anyone remember the comic strip Boofhead?

Boofhead is a slang term for a stupid person, albeit with a slightly soft aspect.

The Boofhead cartoon character was no exception:

I am unaware as to whether the Boofhead strip generated the slang term or whether the character was named after an already existing term.

Created by Robert Bruce Clark, the Boofhead strip ran in the Daily Mirror until 1970.

Clark repeatedly requested to be allowed to take art lessons to improve his style and was repeatedly refused – in the words of another ad, later adopted by Mortein . . .

By the way, TV game show host, Club Pres and football commentator Eddie McGuire recently criticised indigenous footballer Adam Goode’s “war dance”, saying inter alia that it was aggressive and that it should not be seen again. In 2013 McGuire had apologised for saying that Goode could be used to promote the film King Kong. The latest comments prompted a response from the NSW State Parliament which passed the following motion:

This House condemns Mr Eddie Macguire [sic], the President of the Collingwood Football Club, for:

(a) his comment that "This is a made-up dance, this is not something that has been going on for years.", and

(b) being a continual boofhead.

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Some other Oz cartoons from bygone days, who remembers these? . . .

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Paul Rigby’s daily social comment cartoon in the Daily Mirror:

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Eric Jolliffe, who died in 2001 aged 94, was a contributor to the P magazines (Pix, Post, People) and later to the SMH with strips that would today be considered racist and stereotyping but which were popular in their day:

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Ken Maynard (1928-1998) was also a contributor to a P mag, the Post, giving Australian culture the Ettamogah Pub:

Today there are recreated Ettamogah Pubs in Sydney, Albury-Wodonga, Sunshine Coast and Cunderdin.

Maynard used to draw the galahs as wearing boots, the corrugated roof of the pub being too hot for bare feet:

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Bluey and Curley began life as a pair of Australian soldiers in World War 2:

The strip continued to 1975 when Les Dixon retired. He had drawn it for 18 years, the characters being the creation of Alex Gurney. Dixon took over the strip after the death of Gurney.

It's Friday again and that means both the end of the week and some humour. (It also means that my only begotten daughter, in whom I am well pleased, arrives from Dubai for a 2 week stay).

Whilst wondering what the theme could be for Funny Friday, I received a cartoon by phone text from Byter R, who shall remain nameless but who is female.

That cartoon was:

I had a sense that R knows all of these dwarves personally.

That also suggested the theme for this Friday.

Before I am accused of being insensitive, or of making light of something that is a major female stresser, let me say that I agree with the comment sometimes attributed to Gloria Steinem/Florynce Kennedy:"If men could have babies, abortion would be a sacrament." So it is with the Big M, if men were to go through it the way women do, society would grind to a halt).

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My internal thermostat has only 2 settings...

1. Hypothermia

2. Eternal Fires of Hell.

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My 18-year-old girlfriend is mad at me because I "know nothing of women".

Probably just her menopause making her a bit temperamental.

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Q: How many women with MENOPAUSE does it take to change a light

Bulb?

Woman’s Answer:

One! ONLY ONE!!!! And do you know WHY? Because no one else in this

House knows HOW to change a light bulb! They don’t even know that the bulb is BURNED OUT!! They would sit in the dark for THREE DAYS before they figured it out.

And, once they figured it out, they wouldn’t be able to find the #&%!* light bulbs despite the fact that they’ve been in the SAME CABINET for the past 27 YEARS! But if they did, by some miracle of God, actually find them, 2 DAYS LATER, the chair they dragged to stand on to change the STUPID light bulb would STILL BE IN THE SAME SPOT!!!!! AND UNDERNEATH IT WOULD BE THE WRAPPER THE FREAKING LIGHT BULBS CAME IN!!! BECAUSE NO ONE EVER PICKS UP OR DOES THE LAUNDRY!! IT’S A WONDER WE HAVEN’T ALL SUFFOCATED FROM THE PILES OF DIRTY CLOTHES THAT ARE A FOOT DEEP THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE HOUSE!! IT WOULD TAKE AN ARMY TO CLEAN THIS PLACE! AND DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON WHO CHANGES THE TOILET PAPER ROLL!!

I’m sorry. What was the question?

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Menopause:

When you long for the old days of PMS.

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Corn Corner:

I was playing poker with my mum and a couple of her friends, when they all get a hot flush.